


The Sweet Afterglow of Bliss

by Moria



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moria/pseuds/Moria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aredhel was not always a cooperative figure model.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweet Afterglow of Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> A wildcard prompt, using "pictures/videos" as requested by Innin.

“Írissë, for the love of the Valar, stay still!” Callë ordered in exasperation, the sketchbook open before her. The lightest of streaks from her charcoal was on the page, the promise of a new drawing foiled by the ridiculous woman on the sofa. Írissë was cooperative enough in class, where she had volunteered to be the model for the figure-drawing class Callë had signed up for in want of bettering her skills. She sat with grace, not a stitch on her save for the band pulling her hair up high, allowing the class of elves to study and practice drawing her beautiful form, a blend of soft femininity and muscular strength. 

But here on the patio of Callë’s home, she squirmed on the comfortable sofa inelegantly as if distracted or bored, craning her neck to catch glimpse of birds flying, her opprobrious behavior getting more and more under Callë’s skin. And though in class she always had full control of her body, here Callë could smell and see the desire from her friend. And Írissë did not know when to stop. 

“Írissë! Stop fingering yourself!” Callë said, appalled as her friend, with not one ounce of shame, began doing exactly that, her mischievous grin basking in the golden glow of Laurelin’s light. It wasn’t that she scorned Írissë for doing so - she was very much in love with her and enjoyed any view Írissë gave her - but anyone could easily see her from within the house, alerted by the little gasps and moans coming from the elf. And Callë had not planned their time together to get derailed by their own earthen desires. She was becoming so good at drawing, a skill she did not think she had any chance at developing. 

With cheeks blushing a deep red, Callë tried to distract herself from the full view Írissë was giving her. She poured through her other sketches, of Írissë’s fair smile, lying on her stomach and her gaze turned lovingly towards the artist, her ass a fine round shape; in another she was posed in a manner which created delightful folds and stretched skin, the shapes of the shadows as much a beauty as the parts of her captured in the light. And Callë’s favorite, of Írissë sitting atop a large rock, nude save for the bowstring and the arrow pulled back, quiver strap across her chest. She sat erect, a deadly war goddess undeterred by her own nudity but displaying it proudly. Callë was going to color the picture in some day, once she took the proper class. 

Callë glanced back up, her legs shaking slightly as a warmth spread between her legs. Írissë’s moans had escalated, her fingers coated with her juices, some of which dribbled on the sofa that Callë knew she would spend the rest of the day cleaning up and hoping her family wouldn’t notice. 

“Írissë? Írissë, no! That’s my job!” she stormed over to her friend, who grinned cheekily at her. 

“Not with those fingers! They’re full of charcoal!” she playfully whined. 

“I don’t need fingers for this, love.” And grabbing hold of Írissë’s thighs she sunk down between her legs, her tongue working at the speed she knew Írissë enjoyed. She loved it rough and fast, as Callë had found out one time when Írissë completely destroyed one of her bolsters. She playfully bit on a lower lip, lapped aggressively on the inner walls down and around her clit, then over just to drive her into a squirming mess, crying out Callë’s name as waves of intense pleasure rode over her, over and over again, as Callë did not lessen up until Írissë had reach climax multiple times, each new wave greater than the last. 

Panting, spent, Írissë rested back, the words having long left her. “Callë, oh…” 

“Good. You won’t be moving for a while now.” Callë returned to her sketchbook and started up her illustration again as though nothing had occurred. Obediently Írissë rested back, her legs still spread, her eyes closed in contentment and satisfaction, enjoying the rays of Laurelin. A line of of her own juices trickled down Callë’s thigh, but she ignored her own body’s need for now. With her subject finally in one position, she focused on nothing else. It was perhaps not a sketch suitable to show her drawing instructor, not with the suggestive pose and the story clearly written in the pose. But it would be a piece saved for herself and Írissë to see, of art capturing the sweet afterglow of bliss.


End file.
